


the third music room/adagio cantabile

by allsovacant



Series: johnlock•actually [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Christmas fic, Extracted from the 2018 Advent Challenge, Fluff, Lowkey rush fic, M/M, Mild Angst, the violinist and the pianist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-13
Updated: 2018-12-13
Packaged: 2019-09-17 05:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16968891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: All Sherlock wanted was to be able to perform the song his mother played for his father when she was still alive. And he will have that chance to play it for his father's second wedding.If only he's not having second thoughts about the saidweddingand if only he had a place to practice into.Oh wait, he have.The Third Music Room.





	the third music room/adagio cantabile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Auspiciousnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auspiciousnight/gifts).



> This work is for Auspiciousnight for when this work was still inside the Advent Challenge and was a continuous prompt, she loved Chapter 9. Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> This work was unbeta'ed so expect it to be messed up like its author.
> 
> [Chapter 8-11 of [ the first advent](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762123?view_full_work=true)]

The Triangle or the university park was packed with students having recess, studying for exams, finishing projects and the likes _dull_ students do.

Sherlock ruffled his curls and heaved a sigh. He already went through his violin part the nth time for a special event in his family's life and perfected it to his heart's content but still, he felt out of his element.

And that's because everywhere around him was _too noisy_. No—he's not having this. He needed to find a place secluded where he could recite his solo piece without any disturbance.

He looked around hoping to find a new haven. Just then his gaze wondered up on the upper third building and stopped on the huge red coloured oak doors.

The Third Music Room.

 _Perfect_.

Smiling to himself, Sherlock stood up. He placed his violin back on its case and gathered up his music sheets then made his way towards the building.

Ever since he was a child, music has been his refuge and using it as an escape from the harsh truth that has made him aloof from everyone.

His dearest and sweet Mother, Estella Adrianna Holmes, died from the results of a tragic accident when she was pregnant with Sherlock. She was practicing a solo piece on her violin (the one that Sherlock uses now) in the middle of the stage for a Christmas presentation when the chandelier above her unscrewed and fell. She lost so much blood that she was only able to give birth to a premature Sherlock before she succumbed to her death. Her husband and her bestfriend saw it happened. But as Sherlock grew up, no one recalled what happened. His mother had been forgotten, even by his father. And now, he was about to play for his mother's bestfriend and his father who are about to get married before Christmas. Just thinking about it makes Sherlock cringed. It's not that he doesn't want to see his father happy again, because he very seemed so, ever since Lovelle replaced the role of being a mother to him and a wife to his father.

But he really doesn't want to have a new mother. And there's something about that woman which unsettled him.

He reached the steps laiden with red carpet and eventually the twin oak doors.

For some reason, the music room aren't much in use ever since the ugly fire that happened in the middle of the night that took the life of a student several years ago. The student was reportedly got trapped inside and died of suffocation. Hence, the ghost stories surrounding the third music room has become a frequent gossip starter.

The room on the otherhand had become a storage for the musical instruments that have seen its days. Hence the name, _third music room_ —newly renovated third building + musical instruments + storage.

Sherlock reached out on a small space by the corner of the door. The maintenance he had befriended before named Mike, told him it's the secret keeper. The key for the music room was hidden on that space. He was told that he could sneak in anytime he wanted. But he should make sure that no one would see him enter and no one would see him leave.

And most importantly, if he hears anything strange inside— _leave immediately._

The key was already in between his fingers when he heard a loud noise that came from inside the room.

As if something heavy had fallen. He was too surprised that he snucked out his hand immediately resulting to his skin being scraped at the edges of the sharp space.

He cursed under his breath and fetched the key with his other hand.

Now his scraped skin tingled and was about to swell. Sherlock pouted and glared at the door.

_You seemed to be a really unlucky place._

He then put the key to the hole, unlocked and turned the knob and pushed it open slowly.

The creaking sound the door made was one of the creepiest noise he had heard. 

_Not too much for ghost stories though._

Sherlock then closed the door behind him, placing his things over the chair.

The room has definitely become a storage. Several musical instruments lay broken scattered on the floor. This might've been the sound that trombones, cymbals, fiddles, oboe, accordion, keyboard and even a few violin with broken strings. Sherlock looked at them sadly. He could feel his heart breaking just seeing the instruments.

On the other part of the room, there are also some instruments but this time they aren't broken but seemed to be in the process of being repaired. There are assortment of tools, tuners and string cutters resting over a small work table. And on the table, a violin was being repaired.

Sherlock walked towards the table trailing his fingertips on the body of the violin. Evidently, the violin has been polished to look like new again. Its nubs has scratches but all in all it looked working.

A noise once again startled Sherlock. It seemed to be coming further on inside the music room.

He tiptoed quietly, evading the feet of the chairs that are upturned and the violin bows scattered on the floor.  
  
But to his surprise, when he reached the corner where the sound was supposed to be coming from, instead he found a door. It was much smaller than the twin oaks that almost only a twelve-year old child could pass if one doesn't lower himself to the floor and crawled

He crouched and tried to deduce what could be behind it. He breathed on his errant curl and decided to push the door instead. Exactly how many secrets does Mike hides in here? Then he crawled to get inside.

When he managed to get inside and on his knees, a view of another table welcomed him. He dusted off himself and surveyed the works in front of him. There lay various sheets of music that Sherlock knows by heart. Brahms, Mozart, Bach and his personal favourite Beethoven, and other musicians. Sherlock looked at them one by one.

Then his attention was caught by a single piece of piano sheet. It was painstakingly written in a scrawled-like manner. And Sherlock marveled at the notes written. He could almost hear them inside his head playing. He preferred the violin but he also plays the piano as his father taught him. The notes of this sheet though, the notes—Sherlock closed his eyes imagining he could hear the first ten notes of the sheet. Melancholic, serene, calm, smooth—but the feeling of longing was much more evident. A feeling he—

 _"WHO the hell are YOU?! and WHAT are you doing here?!"_ a strong firm voice bellowed in the silence of the room.

Sherlock's head snapped at the source of the voice.

The wind blows on the open windows that he failed to notice earlier, such as the man, now, standing before him. A good twenty-steps away.

A man barefooted wearing nothing but his sinful black boxer briefs hiding a resting bulge—blue eyes piercing him a questioning look. A towel was frozen on his hand, curled on a messed up fresh from the bath-fuzzy blonde-grey-streaked hair (and Sherlock wondered how they smell and if they were soft... and...). He gasped as he immediately snapped back into reality. He crouched down and crawled back as fast as he could to where he came from.

"Oi! Hold on a sec!" shouted the man.

Sherlock got up on his feet once he got passed that forsaken hole and started running while evading the instruments on his feet.

"I'm sorry! I-I didn't mean to—" he shouted back.

Then the man breathing heavily just appeared from the other side of the room cornering him. How did he do that he had no idea.

_Fuck. There must be a trap door._

"I-I'm really sorry, Mister." He said.

The man's eyebrow narrowed. He folded his arms his chest.

_God, those biceps. That should be illegal._

The man's chest was a bit muscled as well as the illegal biceps. A scar decorated his left shoulder that looked like _'the Death of the Nebula'_ , a painting that Sherlock loved—a starburst.

After the man's scrutizing look on him, he spoke again. But instead of preaching him on trespassing, it was something Sherlock didnt expect.

"It would really do you good if you'll just stop right there and let me take a look at that bleeding hand." He heard the man say calmly this time.

But Sherlock was still too stunned at the glorious body in front of him that he didn't noticed the man stepped forward and snapping two fingers in front of him.

"Huh?" He said blinking and dumbfounded.

To his surprise, the man let out a chuckle and Sherlock thought it was the softest thing he had heard.

The man then leaned at him ( _so close... Oh Lord..._ ) so close that Sherlock thought he'd heard the most beautiful adagio cantabile ever composed while his heart contrasted its tempo.

"I said, let's do something about that hand of yours."  
The man murmured pointing at his hand. His piercing blue eyes gone soft.

Sherlock then looked at his hand and saw it was bleeding. He caught his breath and panicked. Bleeding—fuck—he has a weakness seeing blood. Why was this even happening to him?

"B-Blood—" he breathed.

And just like that, Sherlock's world turned upside down and the last thing he remembered was the feeling of strong arms being wrapped around him.

•••••

When Sherlock regained his consciousness he was serenaded by a beautiful piano piece he had heard countless times before.

It was entitled, _Almaz_. A piano ballad written with lyrics about a refugee couple that described a rare form of love. And the same piece he'll be playing for his father's wedding.

When he opened his eyes, he saw the blonde man now dressed in white sleeves and black slacks, sitting in front of the dirty white coloured grand piano. His blonde greying hair was complimented by the sunlight seeping through the open windows.

The hustle and bustle of the chattering students passing on The Triangle sounded far away. For Sherlock focused his ears on the classic music he was hearing.

He watched the man played and catalogued every move. A small pair of short hands, strong yet graceful, touching the piano keys. For one second Sherlock thought how would those fingers feel on his skin. Such dangerous thoughts he knew he shouldn't ventured into.

He lifted his gaze to the man and found the latter staring at him as well.

Sherlock caught his breath.

The man's blue eyes, soft yet seemed to pierce on his whole being just like earlier when they met. And he felt hypnotised as the man continued to play. A sensual dance between the piano keys and his musician.

Looking away for a minute, his gaze lands at the table beside the long windows.

There lies his violin case.

Puzzled how it ended there, he looked back at the man to question him. But the man only nodded at his instrument as if urging him to play.

He narrowed his eyes and walked near the table, feeling the leather case. He flipped open the lid and pulled out the Stradivarius, balancing it in his hands. He picked up the bow and with aching familiarity, he tucked the violin in between his chin and let the bow guide the strings to accompany the notes of the grand piano.

Their gazes met once again as the two of them played. And for the very first time, he felt complete.

###

When their impromptu duet ended, John held his breath as he let the ending notes of the piano accompany the tall, lithe figure, gracefully holding his bow over his violin unaware of his surroundings. Lost in the music they played.

And John marveled at the way the boy's body blend with their music. He swayed with his notes. John had been playing the piano ever since he was five years old inspired by his alcoholic father. And was almost dubbed as a piano genius if only he was able to achieve and further his studies but no—he abandoned his dreams of being a musician when he enlisted in the army. But after he was shot in the shoulder that left him with gruesome nightmares, dismissed from duty and homeless—his love for music saved him once again. Only it ended him working as a repair man for the university's orchestral group. But it was better than being broke and living in the streets. The pay was good and he survived—and meeting this beautiful boy surely saved him from boredom.

Speaking of which, the tall guy with a mop of raven curls, scratching the head of his violin was now gaping at him.

John cleared his throat, "That. was. fantastic."

The guy blinked at him, then decided to put his violin back on its case. "Oh..." was all the guy could say while still holding the bow.

John smiled and watched as the guy's cheekbones tinged of red.

"I'm John. What's your name?"

The guy blinked once again at him tucking an errant curl on his ears. John thought women only do that. But this guy does it and it was the most adorable thing he witnessed.

No—beautiful, mesmerizing. Earlier when he caught him looking at his sheets he couldn't help but think of an art coming into life.

Perfect mussed curls, prominent cheekbones and jaw, pale greenish-greyish eyes. And a skin complexion that rivals those marble statues on national museum. Just perfect.

"I—I'm Sherlock... seventeen years old. Uh... A Chemistry student."

John's eyebrows raised, "Oh?"

Shit. He's younger than me. Draw the line, Watson.

"And you play the violin?" He implied as he straightened his posture and half-turned on his seat so he could face the guy.

Sherlock nodded bashful, "A passion since childhood."

"Marvelous. No wonder you're so good."

And John marveled again as Sherlock blushed at him. The smile he gave Sherlock was a tight lipped one. Bit not good.

"So," John cleared his throat exagerratedly it made him winced. "Anyway,what exactly are you doing here when I... caught you?"

"I apologise. I didn't mean to intrude. I was only looking for a place where I could practice the piece I'll be playing for my father's wedding. And I really couldn't find any other place where—"

  
Sherlock said rather quickly that John gestured his hands for the guy to slow down.

"Alright, alright—I see now. It's alright."  
He replied, awkwardly.

Does he? Was it—really alright?

As every minute passed, he feels himself lusting over the boy.  
Good Lord, he should really get laid. But before pleasure, he should do something to get rid of Sherlock. He's old enough to be his middle aged teacher.

"John,"  
Sherlock's deep baritone voice drawled, plucking him out of reverie.

"Y-Yeah?" His voice croaked.

 _Fuck_.

Sherlock's gaze never left him.

"Could you please... let me practice with you?" Sherlock said quietly John almost thought he was afraid someone might hear it.

"What? Sure. Yes—Anytime—I mean, when class is done."

_Whoa. Halt there, Watson. What happened with getting rid of him?_

John dismissed the annoying voice inside his head. Even he was being annoyed by himself. But all of his annoyance vanished when he saw Sherlock beamed a smile at him.

"I—thank you. I just don't want to—disappoint my father and his soon-to-be new wife. He's the only one I have..."

John immediately saw the pain and sadness that swiftly crossed Sherlock's eyes.

"It's alright. I understand." He replied softly. "We should uh... work out a schedule, yeah?"

Sherlock nodded at him with an unbelievable look on his face. Then finally he gave him a small smile.

When Sherlock left that afternoon, John promised to himself that he wouldn't let those beautiful eyes be clouded with hurt and pain again. But how would he do that without giving the whole university a gossip to chit-chat with? He have to make a plan.

•••••

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

John gave a small smile to an awestruck Mike over their lunch break. His long time friend was grilling him with tons of questions about his and Sherlock's secret meetings an hour after class. That arrangement went on for three weeks and by the time Mike learned about it, John knew he had become closer to Sherlock than he shouldn't be.

"Good Lord, John! Do you see what I see??" Mike exclaimed helplessly after sipping on his tea.

"What?"  
He asked casually.

Mike groaned. "Do you see what I see?!"

He raised an eyebrow. "Again—what?"

Mike groaned again. "I see trouble, John! And I know you know what I mean."

He fixed his friend a stern gaze.  
"No Mike, I have no idea what exactly you mean." He said.

His friend sighed in resign. "You know you can't be seen with a student right?"

"Goodness, Mike." He rolled his eyes. "Sherlock could be seen with anyone. He's an adult not a child. And I'm not even taking advantage of him. And I'm not a teacher either. But he's the one who barged into my little door, fainted when he first saw me and asked me to accompany him playing his violin when he regained consciousness," He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm just a washed out former soldier and army doctor trying to make a living. I didn't even asked him how he'll pay me. But he still brought any amount of money he could give. There's nothing more to that."

Mike said nothing about his outburst. He counted to three before facing his friend.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to sound so defensive." John muttered under his breath. "Besides, Sherlock's already sounded perfect. Just one last practice and our arrangement is over. His father's wedding will occur later this evening."

"I understand." Mike said softly, nodding at him. "I feel sorry for you, John. I apologise as well, if my words sounded a bit rude assumptions."

John gave his friend a terse nod.

"Thank you. Don't worry. He's such an insufferable prick. Complaining here and there. I don't even know where I got the strength on dealing with him."

Mike let out a hearty laugh.  
"Yeah. He's a good man. That's just Sherlock for you. That kid had been through alot."

"Yeah, I know." He replied.

On the span of three weeks him and Sherlock had already exchanged their life stories. And John was surprised he could actually relate to some of it. For once, Sherlock being gay and him being bisexual. The bullying, name-calling and other forms of judgement are just some of the few they share feeling.

"Mm. Alright. Have to go first. See you later, Mike."  
John stood up and waved at his friend.

"See you, John. Say 'hi' to Sherlock for me." Mike smiled and waved back at him.

"I will." He said with a little smile. One more session and it's over. 

###

At six in the evening, John was now walking on the Triangle towards the third building, whistling a nameless tune. He was about to round the corner when a heated conversation reached his ears.

"I want him gone too, Maurice." A female voice said in a low frustrated voice.

"Who's it gonna be this time? Seventeen years ago you made me kill a pregnant lady now what—?"

John took out his phone and accessed its camera app. He just had a feeling he might need it.

"She deserved that. She took away the man I love." The female voice said in a grave tone.

"We both know that Stefan never fell in love with you—" The man's voice was mocking. John then heard the sound of a palm in contact with the skin.

And then the female's voice shouted in anger. "That's because she seduced him!"

"Come now, Lovelle. We all knew Adrianna never liked Stefan in the first place. It was only when he played the piano and Adrianna played with him with the violin on that fateful Christmas ball, that she realised she had been in love with him from the start."

Another slap. John was starting to feel pity on the man. If only the two aren't talking about murdering someone.

"Hold your horses! I will do it again for you. That's because you're my half-sister. But I'm warning you—"

"Oh just shut up. Just kill Sherlock later and I'm going to pay you half a million and then you can vanish on the face of this earth!"

"Fine. How do you want me to do it?"

"Oh, same as before. I will let him stand in the middle of his beloved stage and you know how the lights work, do you?"

The female's voice sounded low and clouded with malicious intent.

John knee's almost buckled when he heard the name the female just said— _Sherlock_ , what are the chances?

"Alright—"

"Do wear a tuxedo. It's my wedding and you're my brother after all."

"Half—"

"Oh well, your mother's a whore."

The man sneered at the female but said no more.

When the owner of the voices parted, John watched as the lady in red walked the other way to a car parked near the second building, her heels clicking while behind her. While the huge bulky man went on to disappear outside the gates of the school. He needed to see Sherlock—immediately. Before it's too late.

He let the car vanished outside of the university's view before running towards the third building.

•••••

If there's one thing that Sherlock finds odd was the way he feels whenever he's inside the music room. He felt comfort like the way the musical notes enveloped him as he played his violin. And joy when he knows that everytime he opened the music room, John would be there waiting for him. All smiles and blue eyes sparkling. Alive—unlike the first time they've met when the man looked lost. John said, the war did that to him. And Sherlock understood. On the weeks that they were together polishing his violin piece—John shared a lot to him. And he knows that John haven't done that before, opening his life to others. On the other hand, they both shared passion for music and Sherlock was just glad that he have someone to share it with—

He was halfway through the stairs when his mobile phone rang. It was Lovelle.

"Hello?" He asked quietly.

There was a chatter on the background before Sherlock hears Lovelle's voice.  
"Oh! Hello dear! Are you getting ready now? It's almost time for the wedding."  
Lovelle explained enthusiastically.

"Oh—I... I am. Just give me half an hour." I'll be there." Sherlock said in a frantic voice.

"That's great then! I'll be seeing you later okay? And Sherlock, you do know I already treat you and love you like my own right? And ... my heart only beats for your father." Lovelle said in a small voice. But the last sentence was clear and firm. As if he couldn't say anything that could change the evening.

Sherlock felt sad all of a sudden. He remembered the photos of his father and mother in each other's arms looking hopelessly in love. He kept that photo when his father gave it to him as a present before taking Lovelle home with them.

He blinked hard to prevent his tears from falling.

"Yes, Aunt Lovelle." He whispered in reply.

"Oh you adorable young one, just Lovelle would be good."

"Alright..."

"Okay! See you!"

The line went dead and Sherlock felt the same. He looked ahead at the third music room and thought if he could just see John one last time. But he didn't want his father to be disappointed.

Rummaging through his mailman's bag, he stripped off a piece of paper from his pad and scribbled something. And then he took the last steps towards the music room's door and put his note under the mat. John would see that later. And hopefully, he will be able to see him.

With a long last look he whispered, " _Goodbye, John..._ "

And then he turned on his back and walked away.

•••••

John almost toppled on the stairs when he arrived on the music room. He lifted the floormat and saw the keys and a piece of note. So Sherlock hadn't been inside for the key was left untouched. He then unfolded the note and read what it says. It was Sherlock's cursive handwriting saying that he wouldn't be able to attend their last practice for he was needed already in the wedding. To his relief, Sherlock has included the wedding reception's address. A race against time and for Sherlock's life.

John then took out his phone and called Mike. He clutched the paper on his free hand with the key and opened the door. When Mike answered, he tried to explain everything as fast as he can. When he was sure that Mike promised he'll arrive with the police and now on their way. He only had little time to think of what to wear.

It was a wedding after all.

In the end, John chose the attire he most likely wear before rushing away and inviting himself to the reception.

###

The background music was already starting when he saw John. John who was now wearing a bespoke black tuxedo. And when their gazes met Sherlock felt the invisible pull. John tilted his head on the left and went that way. Sherlock looked at his father on the front who was still talking to his new wife and then back at John who was now gesturing at him to follow. He whispered to his cousin seated beside him and excused himself for a minute.  
But as he was about to move Lovelle called out to him.

"Sherlock, dear."

Sherlock turned to the front and saw his father beaming a smile at him while Lovelle was standing with a microphone at hand.

"Would you kindly please play the song you have been putting so much effort to practice, for us?"

He looked where John was standing but the man was nowhere to be found. His heart sinked a little.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He then picked up his violin from its case and walked in the middle of the stage.

The guests and their extended families gave him an applause as he began to play the duet of his violin with a piano accompaniment in the background. He was so lost—eyes closed in his music. That it was only when he was about to finish, he opened his eyes and found John on the left side of the stage with an actual piano and playing with him.

He smiled fondly at the man as they play to the end. Their gazes locked and their hands danced in their own music until the end of the song.

A series of applause warmed him as he bowed, face flustered and at the same time, he gestured to where John stood beside the piano. When the spotlight beamed at John, the audience applaused once again. Then finally, John walked to the middle of the stage. John took his hand and squeezed it while looking at him. He smiled as he squeezed back.

"There's something you need to know, Sherlock. And your father will tell everyone about it." John whispered to him. Before he could ask what it was, he saw his father tapped his wine glass with the silver spoon.

"May I have your attention please? Just for a minute? This won't take any longer."

The guests quiet down and his father proceed. Sherlock was a bit surprised at the change of expression his father was now showing everyone. He looked grim.

"There has been a disturbing matter that I should bring to light with all of you present here. And if I would be able to confirm this right here, there will be a huge change that will happen today."

His father then gestured behind him to the operator of the projector.  
"Please, thank you."

After a few tinkering of the operator, the white board flickered behind them as the speakers produce a conversation while the video played on the board.

Two voices, one male and female, plotting a murder and talking about a past horrible murder and not an accident.

What it seemed as if everything happened in a flash, the guests were murmuring to each other while Lovelle was kneeling in front of his father. Begging and crying. But Stefan just stood there watching Lovelle beg. The pain in his father's eyes was so painful to look at. That he ran to his father's side and hugged him.

The police finally came and Lovelle, still in her wedding case was arrested and taken away.

After an additional scene, the empty wedding ended and all the guests have left. When Sherlock looked and asked for John, but the man was nowhere to be found.

Silently in his heart, Sherlock muttered his gratefulness.

•••••

Two years later, Sherlock graduated from his course and applied in another university for a scholarship in the field of Classical Music. He pursued his dreams and was able to finish with flying colours. Sherlock's father never re-married again but he does relived and honoured the memory of his wife by teaching his son the songs they used to play together.

•••••

_(A short epilogue)_

The third music room was fixed and painted again. It was no longer a storage room for broken musical instruments. But has become a music studio where students could learn to play the piano or the violin or make the music along with memories.

John no longer worked there. But he was now working for someone else. He transferred on a flat in London just about two months ago, and started dating his flatmate. And if one passed by the Opera Avenue, a classical themed bar in downtown London. He or she could see a small built of a man, with blonde hair and greying streaks, seated in front of the piano. His fingers danced with the keys but his gaze was focused on the tall lithe figure of a man with a riot of dark curls and a violin tucked under his elegant chin. His bow whispers the notes as the music they make blended.

And when the tall man leaned down to kiss the blonde man softly and slowly on the lips, the two of them makes the sweetest sound only they could hear.

A song that only their hearts could sing. _Adagio cantabile._

  
_—FINISH—  
Thank you for reading again!_

_—Leev_

**Author's Note:**

> Hit me on Twitter @allsovacant. Cheers!
> 
> A/N:  
> Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and John Watson are owned by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Although their appearances here are respectively inspired by Benedict Cumberbatch and Martin Freeman, thrice upon a time—


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